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It’s an origin story straight from a college brochure: Summer Lee and Delia Ramirez arrive at freshman orientation, excited but nervous about their upcoming term. They meet, realize neither of them has figured out their housing, and eagerly ask each other, “Do you want to be roommates?”
But Lee and Ramirez aren’t in school—they’re freshman members of Congress, helping to expand the U.S. House’s growing progressive “squad.” Lee is representing Pennsylvania’s 12th district, where she overcame millions of dollars spent against her campaign to become the state’s first Black congresswoman, and Ramirez is representing Illinois’ 3rd district as the first Latina congresswoman from the Midwest and the rare member of Congress in a mixed-status marriage. (Her husband is a DACA recipient.) “We’re both working class-background women, and it was very clear rent in D.C. is so, so expensive,” Lee explained. “It was a great choice to share space with another woman from my generation who is taking on this fight.”
During their first 100 days in Congress, the two let ELLE.com into their space (watch them get ready for a day at work, below) and into their lives—checking in each month to give a crash course on what it’s like being young, progressive women of color operating inside one of the nation’s oldest institutions.
Navigate Through the First 100 Days:
JANUARY FEBRUARY MARCH APRIL
Typically, on the first day of a new Congress, members of the U.S. House vote on the Speaker, their leader for the next two years, and then they get sworn into office. But for the first time in 100 years, Republican infighting dragged the Speaker vote on for days. Instead of the intended January 3, members didn’t get sworn in until around 2 A.M. on January 7.
For freshman members like Ramirez, the frenzy upended what should’ve been a life-changing day. For her historic swearing-in, Ramirez had loved ones fly in from across the country. Family members in Guatemala—one of whom she’d never met before—traveled for this “sacred moment.” Below, what she was thinking just hours before everything got derailed.
Delia Ramirez: People like me don’t go to Congress often. I am an unapologetically progressive Latina that comes from working class. I walk in with expectations from a group of people like my mother, sisters, young women who look at me and say, ‘If you can break that glass ceiling, you need to keep it broken so that more of us can be in spaces that were not designed for us. If you are there, there’s a responsibility. But there’s also a hope for us.’ I’m nervous about that. I’m nervous about meeting and managing the expectations. What am I, as one of 435 [members]? I feel such deep humility and responsibility coupled with urgency to do and be what they expect me to be, what they deserve me to be.
I’m so nervous about getting things wrong or a jacket ripping or a bad angle or that folks won’t make it in time—all those little things that come up. But if I’m being completely honest, I’m nervous about what January 4 and January 5 will look like. Doing everything I can to show my constituents that even in the minority, we can push. Even the minority, we can bring back home wins.
I have to worry about how I’m going to stretch my last paycheck to get me through February 1 when we get paid. I also don’t have health care until then…There’s a certain tension that’s felt in a place that, in some ways, feels like it wasn’t designed for working class people to be in leadership.
For Summer Lee, the chaotic vote felt “disrespectful and embarrassing and a bit shameful.” On top of the procedural mayhem, she was also dealing with a typical first week at a new job when no one really tells you what to do. “I can’t tell you how little information we know as freshman,” she said. “I wasn’t even sure how roll call vote works.”
“A lot of it is learn as you go or take your cues from other people,” Lee continued. “But it’s a dangerous habit to take your cues from other folks, because all folks aren’t there for the same reason you are.” Here, her dispatch from her first week as a congresswoman.
Summer Lee: The chaos made [swearing-in] pretty anti-climatic. I’m getting sworn in, and my family’s not here; I don’t even think I have a picture. It’s this historic moment, and it just came down to almost procedure. It was a reminder that while representation matters, representation isn’t saving us. That was my takeaway. We’re not here to be comfortable or celebrated. We’re here to serve. We’re here to make this place better than it was when we got here so our country can be better for people who have not been able to experience true equity or true justice.
It was always a little solemn for me to come here. I was very realistic about what this place expects of you and takes from you. I see the abuse that women of color— particularly progressive women of color—take. When we talk about the squad, they were held to standards that do not exist for anyone else. Yet they’re still expected and able to get up and fight. I can’t expect I would escape that fate.
It’s an incredible honor to serve, don’t get me wrong, but it was more a moment for reflection. To take on these big institutions and systems and ideas that have been impediments to racial and economic justice in this country means you’re going to have to tread a path that very few people want to go on with you. That’s not fun, and it’s not easy. I believe that’s my role with everything I do, to move us closer to eradicating racism and xenophobia and ableism and all of these other oppressions. And if I survive it, great. [Laughs]
I got advice from other Black women who are in this space: “What are you going to do about your hair? You’re on camera. We’re at a fast-paced job with busy schedules. Make sure you’re planning it out as you plan everything else in your week.”
During her first month, Ramirez checked off some of the essentials. Getting the lay of the land? “The fact that I can go from my office to the elevator to outside is progress.” Getting committee assignments? “It felt like Hunger Games in some cases.” (The results: Homeland Security as the vice ranking member and Veterans’ Affairs.)
She then rounded out the month with two progressive bucket list items: She was asked to give the Working Families Party response to President Biden’s State of the Union address, and she was invited to dinner at Sen. Elizabeth Warren’s house.
Delia Ramirez: I thought it was pretty cool when I was asked a month ago [to give the State of the Union response], and then, in the last week and a half, I was like, oh my God. I realized the extent and the importance of what this is and what this means. I want to invite us to imagine and work toward the vision where all of us are able to thrive, where we center this work on working families. It was a gift to have been asked to do it. I’m also grateful my family was willing to allow me to share our personal experiences, not from a place of weakness and certainly not to feel sorry for us, but from a place of strength and conviction. Yeah, my dad still struggles with his Medicare supplemental. Yes, my mother is on Medicaid—and they’ve contributed to this country.
[Dinner at Sen. Warren’s house] was probably one of the most emotional moments in the last 33 days. How much gratitude that someone [like me] who struggled so much with depression her sophomore year in high school, who didn’t think she would make it through school, a firstborn daughter struggling with working class parents can sit in a room with Elizabeth Warren, AOC, Ayanna Pressley, Jamaal Bowman, Cori Bush, Rashida Tlaib, Maxwell Frost, Summer Lee, and Greg Casar. That’s mind-boggling. And I haven’t just met them—I’m their equal. I work with them. I’m trying to eat my pasta like, don’t you dare cry. But these emotions just came over me. And if I could be here, how many young women are expecting me to create a place for them to be there too?
For Lee, there’s been a similar dichotomy—a sense of awe and one of responsibility. “So many people have emphasized the honor of being in a body where only 12,000 Americans have ever served,” she said. “To be able to feel the connection to Shirley Chisholm or John Lewis is remarkable.” At the same time, this month, Republicans removed Lee’s progressive colleague Rep. Ilhan Omar from the Foreign Affairs Committee and a Norfolk Southern train carrying hazardous chemicals derailed in East Palestine, Ohio, not far from her district. Through it all, Lee’s also been navigating what it means, exactly, to be the only Black woman from the Pennsylvania delegation. “It comes with new challenges in the way we’re treated and the way we’re expected to adapt and adopt things that I don’t think a lot of people really consider.”
Summer Lee: Things really picked up out of nowhere. People try to put on all the niceties coming out of orientation—everybody’s looking for their bipartisan bestie—and then we went headfirst into some of the most offensive [Oversight Committee] hearings where we watched marginalized folks get abused in real time by colleagues.
This is the place where inequities are born. Policies that will disproportionately impact generations of non-white, -cis, -straight, -male Americans are happening right here. We have the job of holding that but also working through it in ways that could make you compartmentalize your own humanity, and that’s what we have to learn to deal with.
The thing I’m understanding and grappling with is this idea that I don’t necessarily belong solely to myself. While you are a public servant, you belong to the public in ways that sometimes aren’t fair. It can be very hard to turn it off, because, when do you? When you’re at the grocery store, and you have a constituent who has an urgent need? Do you turn it off when you’re taking a vote that’s going to pass that you know is going to harm someone in your community, harm your family, harm you? But you can’t react in a personal way, because this is supposed to be a professional environment.
I cannot overstate how important and encouraging it is to come into a space like this with people who are navigating in real time with you, and folks who have done it before and are there to welcome you. I remember women who came before [me] at the state level who didn’t serve more than one or two terms—not because they were bad at the job, but because it was such an isolating experience.
By mid-March, Ramirez is fighting a cold, a side effect of her new, grueling schedule—one that’s so hectic she once found herself sneaking out of a committee hearing to use the bathroom and quickly eat a piece of fruit in the stall. It’s all part of the puzzle—how you find time to travel between D.C. and your district, work in both places, and do things like eat, sleep, and maybe sometimes call your mom. “And when you sleep, do you sleep okay? Or are you dreaming of hearings and Republicans calling people like your husband a rapist and a drug mule?”
Even when Republicans aren’t occupying her nightmares, immigration is always top of mind for Ramirez. Her mother crossed the border when she was pregnant with her, nearly dying in the process. “I have no idea how I stayed alive that first trimester considering what she went through and what people did to her.” Ramirez’s husband, Boris, also crossed the border, though as a teenager, and later qualified for Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, which must be renewed every two years. But just a few days before Ramirez spoke to ELLE.com for this interview, his DACA status expired. Here’s what’s been happening with her family behind the scenes:
Delia Ramirez: My personal life the last two months has been really hard. I’ve been thinking a lot about what role I play in making sure that others don’t go through what we’re going through. After we got married in October 2020, Boris did not want to submit our adjustment status immediately. He, like many DACA recipients, believed that if Democrats redeemed the White House, our president would be able to pass legislation to finally give him a pathway to citizenship. I respectfully said, ‘Well, we can wait, but it won’t be that easy.’ It wasn’t until early last year, I said to him, ‘I don’t know if this is going to happen in the next few years. The fear of losing the majority [in Congress] and losing you is unimaginable. We need to apply.’
Someone was assisting with the adjustment status process but had dropped the ball, which we didn’t find out until much later in January. So instead, at the beginning of February, we hired an attorney—someone I respect—and they’ve submitted Boris’ DACA renewal. But on March 15, his DACA status expired. His driver’s license expired. He became completely undocumented until his renewal comes through.
While it’s painful, we’re going to be okay. I’m a congresswoman. That’s a privilege that other people who are in the same boat right now don’t have. What’s happening to so many of our folks who don’t have the voice and access that I have? These programs are nearly impossible to fill out and understand on your own. They’re designed to require attorneys or case workers or non-profits or money to figure out. In some ways, it allows Boris and I to talk about this and do this advocacy work from a place of personal experience.
I was in my first classified meeting, and I was the highest ranking woman. So what responsibility do I have in that space as a woman, as someone who has personal experience to what we’re talking about, as a Latina, and as a daughter of immigrants?
When Lee first ran for Congress, she spoke about bringing “the fight I’ve been in my whole life to Washington.” That was clear this March when, shortly after the Supreme Court heard arguments related to the Biden administration’s student loan relief program, she took to the House floor to give a personal speech about her own experience carrying student debt. “When I filed my first FAFSA, my mom was unemployed,” she told ELLE.com. “There was no contribution my mom could make as a single mother raising two kids.” Here, why speaking out was so important to her.
Summer Lee: When you’re in a position to advocate for issues that impact you, it just hits different. I’m a first-generation college student and law student. I have hundreds of thousands of student loan debt. It’s shaped every decision I’ve made. It’s important that people who have actually lived through this are the ones who are leading the conversation, because people who graduated from college in the ’60s and ’70s have no concept of what we’re dealing with, and they have no patience for it because it’s not their struggle.
Funny enough, as open as I was [in my speech], I wasn’t as open as I could be. Part of that is because of the scrutiny that particularly Black women have received. It’s a vitriol and a hatred that we get for doing exactly what we were told to do. But thousands and thousands and thousands of student loan debt carriers don’t have the same platform as me, so I recognize the responsibility to speak on their behalf every opportunity that I can and make it so their stories are being amplified.
I’ve also been thinking more about how we’re going to deal with some of the inevitable barriers to marginalized people getting into office. The connections, the technical skills, the money piece. [Once you’re in office], let’s just say there’s a reward for being less vocal. Some of those aren’t even intentional; the system is just set up in such a way. If you’re someone who doesn’t rock the boat, your bill might get pushed through. If you don’t have the right relationship or attitude or you don’t play the game the right way, you might not be able to succeed. Those are barriers. Because the reality is, if you’re a marginalized person coming in here because you have an urgent crisis in your own neighborhood, and then you get there and people tell you, ‘That’s not important. You should talk about this instead,’ they’re urging you to suppress a part of your own community’s need or your own identity or soul. Then we expect you to stay here? Why would you stay?
In her first 100 days, Lee has not been afraid to step to the front. She’s become a vice chair of the first-ever Equal Rights Amendment Caucus and a leader in the Congressional Progressive Caucus; she delivered a moving floor speech after an active shooter hoax sent Pennsylvania schools into lockdown. But the moments that are the most emblematic for her—that summarize all that’s happened over the last few months—are the ones where she’s had someone else’s back. “It’s every moment I get to stand in solidarity with someone else as a legislator, because that’s what I want to be known for.” As for what she’s still left wrestling with, Lee explains, below.
Summer Lee: I came into politics recognizing this is like a relay race. We contribute to get our team in the best position, but you’re not carrying the load alone. The challenge here is to not get comfortable. I’ve been really reflecting on that. What is the balance between making the right moves to position yourself well to be that advocate and being neutralized, being silenced in a way? When you’re fighting against injustices, you just want to be comfortable. You get tired of having to fight all the time and being welcomed into this space can feel like a good thing. But you’re accepted at what cost?
I’ve always seen myself as being on borrowed time—not because I want to be. The more insistent you are about attacking the very institution itself, the more vulnerable you are, and a part of you has to accept that, at some point, this discomfort is going to weigh on you enough that you’re going to remove yourself from the situation.
The people who tried to ensure that Pennsylvania would never have a Black congresswoman aren’t going to stop because they lost. They’re going to have a more honed technique. I don’t have the privilege of not being challenged. We’re running all the time, and you’re always being attacked. I keep my walls bare as a reminder that you’re not guaranteed another term, so do everything you can with the term you’re given.
Next, I’m looking forward to realizing the ways in which I can be most useful to this greater movement in my new position. I feel like I still have my sea legs, but it’s time to drop the life raft. I want our office to be a resource for this movement. I’m looking forward to the ways in which we can find ways to really shake some shit up.
Members of the Squad took blows that some of us haven’t taken yet. [Members are] getting used to the fire that they bring. Are we all the way there? No. But I haven’t been run down on the House floor yet. I will say we’re in the minority, so it’s already a different environment.
A week before Ramirez sat down with ELLE.com for the final time, she got some good news: her husband’s DACA renewal came through. “He was going through the longest two weeks of his life.” Back at work, another bright spot: Ramirez presented her first bill—a piece of legislation that would allow student veterans to have their education benefits restored if they were defrauded by an educational institution—in a process she describes as “nerve-wracking.” Thankfully, Ramirez knows a thing or two about uncharted territory. A look back on her first 100 days:
Delia Ramirez: What I know [after 100 days] is there are tangible things I can do to help communities in our district in a way I could never do as a state representative. At the same time, I can be a really effective federal legislator, and I have to get out of my head this idea that to be in these spaces that weren’t designed for us is nearly impossible for someone like me.
I’ve met with 16 mayors. I visited schools, neighborhoods, and organizations. I’m negotiating a bill. I’m getting ready to go to the border my mother crossed when she was pregnant with me. I can’t explain how spiritual and emotional going to the border is to me. The last time I was there, I was in my mother’s womb. Just all these little full circle moments. This job is hard as hell—and financially, not as easy as I imagined—but it’s so worth it.
These interviews have been edited and condensed. Collage photos courtesy of Summer Lee, Delia Ramirez, and Getty Images.
Madison is a senior writer/editor at ELLE.com, covering news, politics, and culture. When she's not on the internet, you can most likely find her taking a nap or eating banana bread.
